She was back in the middle of that dream again, the one that had disturbed her so much in the morning that she had struggled awake to escape it. Here it was, however, patiently waiting for her, ready to pounce. Once again she was walking down a cold green hospital corridor. It was a hallway she knew well, for it led to the room where, in real life, her father had lain gaunt and dying from a cancer that had eaten away at him from the inside until there was nothing left but a pile of bones threatening to poke right through his thin, papery skin.

In her dream she knew her father was already dead, that the person she would find in his bed would either not be him, or, worse, would be his long decayed corpse, perhaps only a skeleton by now. It didn't matter because just like before, a flat, tinny woman's voice announced her name over an intercom with news of a waiting phone call, so she obediently turned around and approached an extremely tall nurse's station, so tall she could only see the very tops of the nurses standing behind it. An enormous arm reached down from above and handed her a phone receiver, and as she pressed it to her face she felt anxious thinking of all the sick people germs that were probably stuck to it.

"Courtney," a man's voice said on the other end, "Courtney I need you to listen to me."

At first she thought it was her father's voice, inexplicably calling her from his hospital room, or from beyond the grave maybe. When she tried to reply, however, she couldn't, her words stuck in the gummy sludge of her throat. She tried to moan instead, worried her father would think no one was there and hang up.

"Courtney, you need to listen to me," the voice said, and now she knew it wasn't her father talking to her, it was Cam's father. What the hell was he doing in her dream?! Calling her at the nurse's station on the floor of the hospital where her father had died? She needed to get off the phone, she knew the nurses were watching her impatiently; other people were trying to get through, people with real emergencies. Plus they needed her to hurry up and gather her father's remains, they had been there long enough. A good three years at this point.

Still she couldn't talk, though, and she anxiously looked around for help.

And that's when she saw him, just like the last time. Cam, standing next to her, gazing down on her with concern in his eyes, like he did in real life. Except in her dream he was different somehow, not just the way he held himself and the way he dressed, but also the way he looked at her. It was clear, at least to her dream self, that he was meant to be her husband. She stood frozen in her dream, speechless, unable to reply to Cam's father, unable to return the receiver to the enormous, irritated nurses towering above her, unable to stop the feel of Cam's arm as it snaked around her waist and pulled her towards him, making clear through his body language that she could lean on him, lean heavily.

And just like in real life his young, masculine scent clouded her senses, and she felt a wetness between her legs, even as she stood frozen, on the phone with Cam's father while her own father's remains stretched out nearby, left unattended for much too long now. No, she tried to moan, but again her voice wouldn't budge, and she only managed a gurgle. No.

Suddenly, it felt like someone was plunging a knife into her forehead, a pain so blinding and sharp that she felt herself surfacing up from her dream, up through a viscous pink sea, and into the late afternoon light of her living room.

***

"Oh God, Jesus Christ Lord in Heaven," she moaned in pain. This time the words managed to escape her throat. It was like a stake been driven between her eyes. Her eyes fluttered open and then squeezed shut again to escape the sunlight pouring through her unwashed living room windows.

Suddenly should could feel the light replaced by shadow and she sighed in relief until she heard the voice of Cam's father. The real one.

"Sorry about that, should have closed those earlier," he said in his low, even voice. Her eyes shot open. The living room was dim now that the green polyester curtains that came with the place had been drawn in place.

"Mr. Walker?" she whispered. Her stomach felt raw and empty and all at once the memory of her embarrassing episode out front of the house came flooding back. She groaned.

"Where is Cam?"

The father stood over her, that same look of concern that she kept catching on Cam's face.

"He is back watching over the shop. He called me after you fainted so I came out to check on you and see what I could do," he said. He shook his head wonderingly at her. "I almost called the hospital on you, that is a pretty bad case of heat sick you got there Courtney."

In spite of everything else, she felt a thrill course through her body at the sound of her name on his lips.

"What were you thinking going out running in heat like this so late in the morning? Hell, I know you're from New Jersey, but still."

"Well it's my first summer here, and it's not normal, how hot it gets here," she replied, a petulant note to her voice. Great, she sounded like a kid now arguing with her dad. The evil goblin squatting in her head decided to give her another swipe with its claws and she made a noise and shut her eyes again. She felt a cool cloth on her forehead and then gently stroking her face. Luckily she was in too much pain to notice what effect this might have on her body.

"If our local hospital wasn't such a mess I'd still thinking about calling them up," he continued, and she could hear the concern in his voice. "If you can manage it I'd like you to drink this glass of water and then go take a cold bath."

She felt the cool edge of a glass press against her lips and she struggled to lift her head and drink from it. He urged her on until she had finished it off. She then slowly sat up on the couch, letting a sheet that had been covering her fall to her waist. That was when she realized she was stripped down to her bra and panties.

"Oh my God!" she cried and grabbed the sheet up to her neck in a panic. "I'm naked!"

Cam's father threw his head back and roared in laughter. It shook the throbbing pain in her head and yet it was so unexpected and so warm she didn't mind.

"Yeah, I told my son to strip you and start wiping you down with cold water," he explained. "I promised him I would take the heat for it. He was worried you'd think the worst."

She blushed furiously for so many reasons that she couldn't think of a single thing to say in reply.

"Now that bath, ma'am," he reminded her, serious again. "We gotta get your temperature down or I am going to bring you to that hospital and risk getting your leg taken off or something."

Her eyes widened in horror.

"No, no it ain't that bad, only happened once that I know of," he chuckled, a look of devilry in his eyes.

"Right, time for a bath then," she said as firmly as possible. With as much poise as possible she stood up, wrapped the sheet around her, and walked carefully to the bathroom, careful to keep her step steady as she felt his watching eyes on her. She sensed she was one stumble away from a trip to the ER, which was not going to happen if she had anything to do with it.

Later, after she had bathed, dressed, and had allowed Cam's father—Kyle, she reminded herself, his name was Kyle, not just "Cam's father"—to take her temperature, she curled up on her living room couch and listened to him puttering around her kitchen as though he was thoroughly acquainted with it. She jumped at the sound of a blender. She had a blender in there? A few minutes later he came out with a bowl of cold Gazpacho soup, just like his Mexican ranch hands made it, he promised her.

"It's delicious," she said in some amazement after taking her first, hesitant spoonful, and before she knew it she had slurped the whole thing down.

He sat back in a chair across from her and watched with a look of satisfaction on his face.

"Cam's mama took off when he and his sister were just little things, so I had to figure out how to cook for them myself," he explained.

"Cam has a sister?" she said, scraping longingly at the last few remnants of tomato soup in her bowl.

"He does, a few years older than him." The tone in his voice made her look up at him, but he had stood back up and was dialing his phone. Obviously that conversation was over.

"I am just going to call Cam and let him know you are okay," he said, the phone up to his ear. "You are, right?"

She nodded mutely, and then sighed. It depended on how you defined "okay," she wanted to say.

"Yeah, she's all good, sitting here eating up my Gazpacho soup, cool as a cucumber," he said into his phone. "Yup."

He hung up. It made her think of the way her father had been on the phone, no hello, no goodbye, just the facts. It didn't matter how much of a hard time his daughters gave him about it, he never changed. Her mother had never seemed to mind however. She had always found it kind of weird how hopelessly in love her mother had always been with her father, no matter how old they got.

"He answered the phone when you called?" she said, irritated at the thought. "He never answers the phone when I call your shop."

Kyle (Cam's father, she couldn't help but add) laughed again in his full throated, masculine way. She shivered, this time healthy enough to feel the effects on her body.

"That boy," he said, shaking his head. "Why am I not surprised? Nah, it's his cell. Good to know, though."

She would have felt guilty ratting out Cam if she didn't suddenly feel annoyed that she didn't have his cell phone number, and then ashamed by her annoyance. No, by her jealousy that his own father would have his number and not her. How absurd. She slumped back on the couch and sighed.

Again that look of concern on his face.

"You look really tired Courtney," he said. "I'm going to take off now and let you get some rest. You need to take a temperature a few more times just to keep an eye on things, but I think you should be fine. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

She nodded obediently and watched him gather his things. At last she found her voice, and struggled to keep back the tears that would out to him how nice it had felt to be cared for, even for an hour or so.

"Thank you so much Mr.—I mean Kyle," she said, looking up at him with eyes she hoped were full of the right amount of gratitude but none of the tears she was hoping to keep at bay until he had left her house.

He just shrugged at this, nodded quickly at her, and then he was gone, the front door shutting quietly but firmly behind him. The abruptness of his departure took her aback, and pushed the sobs up faster from where they huddled bursting in her chest. Just as she was about to start wailing, however, she noticed a slip of paper folded on the coffee table, "Miss Park" written on it in the tight, purposeful handwriting of a guy.

She picked it up and opened it, curiosity replaced by a deep, erotic thrill as she read what it said.

"Hang tight Miss Park, and get better soon. Give me a call when you can and let me know you are okay. Your favorite student, Cam"

Right under his name he had written his cell phone number. 

She folded the piece of paper back up and went to go find her phone.